


Not entirely "wherever you go, there you are" but close enough.

by Keenir



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, I apologize if I got her rank wrong, POV First Person, if she's not a Sgt.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keenir/pseuds/Keenir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sgt. Sally Donovan makes the move to NYC...and guess who she finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not entirely "wherever you go, there you are" but close enough.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phosphorescent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosphorescent/gifts).



> You asked. :)

Well aren't I special.

Lestrade hands me a plane ticket to New York, and a sealed envelope addressed to Captain Gregson, New York City Police Department. Tells me he's entrusting me with it, to make sure it gets to his friend safe and sound and secure.

I wouldn't be surprised if there was a Holmes involved in all this. Not Sherlock, not this time - far too subtle for that one. No, more likely one of the ones in Government somewhere. Probably the one lurking about, the one with the errand girl Watson calls _Anthea_. Wanting me out of Sherlock's hair? Like he noticed - probably not, that's what big brothers or whatevers are for, using Government contacts to pull strings and have me moved.

Still, my mind can make scenarios where this is all perfectly innocent, and I just happen to be the officer that Inspector Lestrade trusts enough to relay a secure set of documents to a colleague overseas.

Either way...  
This will not end well.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

The flight was smooth enough, as was the taxi from the airport to the right police department. And sue me, when I stepped inside, I felt the maelstrom of how a proper police department should be running, and I stopped to take a deep breath in, savoring the sweet aroma of no meddling private detectives, much less psychopathic ones. When a desk sergeant asks me if I'm here for anyone, I show my badge and inform him I'm here to see Captain Gregson; he lets me in and points me to his Captain's office.

Halfway there, I come very close to being bumped into by - "Oh, sorry," she tells me, her coffee still unspilled. Two inches on either of our parts, a little less situational awareness from either of us, and the coffee's situation would be otherwise. "I don't recognize you," she says. "Sorry, that was -"

"Understandable," I say, and I can see she noticed the accent, but not only does she not comment on it - I may be the tourist here, but still - but she actually guesses where I'm from, based on it. I nod. "Got it in one," I say, using an Americanism.

"Joan," she says, offering her hand first.

"Sally," I say, taking it for the length of one handshake.

A tall guy in - not so much a suit as an overjacket and scarf - walks up to us, Captain Gregson trailing behind him, and says, "Really, Watson, if you're going to wander off -"

Watson? I have to convince myself that this is coincidence, despite being trained that there's no such animal.

"I don't wander," Joan tells the overjacket. "You asked me to get you a drink; and if you didn't notice on our way in, that the vending machines are out of order," and has a look of 'what sort of a detective does that make you?' on her face. Doesn't come right out and say it.

"Good, you were paying attention," he says like her response was exactly what he was looking for. "New friend?" he asks Joan, speaking of me.

"This is -"

"Sally Donovan," Captain Gregson says, holding out his hand to me; Lestrade showed me a photo of who I was looking for. "Welcome on board. Looking forward to working with you."

"Thank you, sir," I say, handing him what Inspector Lestrade had asked me to give him.

While the Captain is opening that, "Right, sorry," as though something had eluded him. "Joan Watson, you've met. This here's -"

Please don't say - don't say - it can't be - not if there's a merciful God in -

"Sherlock Holmes."

Even in my mind, words cannot express how I feel right now.

"You worked with Junior," this Holmes says, so clearly my face was not as carefully blank as I would have liked it around a Holmes.

"Junior?" Joan asks.

"He is younger than I. And it was that or use the Greek strategy of Sherlock the Elder and Sherlock the Younger."

"Wasn't Pliny a Roman?"

"They both were, but that's beside the point."

"I did," I answer him.

Something seems to amuse him - runs in the family, clearly - and he lets us in on the joke: "Don't you worry, Sgt. Donovan, I'm far more of a people person than Junior ever was."

Not a terribly high bar to pass. "Glad to hear it," I say. Still, if he's at least been able to notice... Take hope where you can, my gran always said.

Captain Gregson pulls something out of the package I had brought him - an envelope - and hands it to me. _DONOVAN_ is handwritten across the envelope.

I accept it, and open it, reading the brief contents of the letter:

_Your transfer's been approved, Sally; it isn't Mann like you hoped, I know. Still, now there's no way in hell you'll have to work with that Holmes ever again. You're welcome. Gregson will see to your housing. Now you'll be working with the NYPD, officially based out of our consulate to assist in security matters there. -Lestrade._

Okay, I can admit I was wrong.


End file.
